Machine
by ImXDragon
Summary: Somewhat-free-verse poem series. Sherlock Holmes has always been a calculating machine in the eyes of those who know him. But when a horrible event occurs, he wants nothing more than to break his carefully constructed mask.
1. Part 1

Machine

He was always considered a man unable to show emotions.

He was a man incapable of love.

He was a calculating machine in their eyes.

A man running on cold, hard reason.

So strong is his care-fully constructed mask.

He needs so badly to feel something, anything.

Why won't the tears fall?

He cannot cry.

The tears are there.

The grope and push at the edges of his eyes, and yet they do not fall.

They cannot breach past the mask.

The cursed mask.

He yearns with all of his being to cry out to anyone.

He wants to scream, to yell with agony.

But he only stares, his mouth agape in a silent cry.

He cannot scream.

There lay his friend, his Boswell, his brother.

He wants the same bullet that had pierced his friend to take him too.

He only kneels, frozen.

He cannot try.

They pull him away from the body.

They don't want him to see.

He doesn't struggle.

He cannot struggle.

Why is he so numb?

Why is he so speechless?

He wants to fight against this mask.

He cannot fight…

A/N:

**I'M SO DEPRESSING!**

**Don't worry, this will be continued. I won't leave you in the dark.**

**Oh, and I thank my three AMAZING reviewers for keeping my writer's fire lit. :3**


	2. Part 2

Machine

Fever rakes his body.

It leaves him hollow.

The fever will not break.

Why won't he wake up?

The Doctor places a damp cloth on his forehead.

The sleuth whimpers at the touch.

Sweet pours down his face.

Why won't he wake up?

He had been trapped in the fever for a long time.

He shows no signs of recovering.

He grows steadily worse.

Why won't he wake up?

He cringes at every sound.

He cries out at every voice.

He starts at every touch.

Why won't he wake up?

The Doctor is afraid.

He watches his dying friend writhe in pain.

He watches his friend cough and moan.

Why won't he wake up?

There is nothing more the Doctor can do.

He will have to watch his friend fade away.

Just like his patients in the war.

Why won't he wake up?

He sits with him in a silent vigil.

He comforts him when he starts.

He comforts him when he cries out.

Why won't he wake up?

A/N:

**To be continued…**


	3. Part 3

Machine

Again the scene replays in his mind.

Again he hears the gunfire.

Again he sees his friend fall.

Why won't it stop?

Again his friend's eyes close.

Again his friend takes his last breath.

Again his friend, his brother, dies.

Why won't it stop?

Again he loses him.

Again his world breaks down.

Again he is left with nothing.

Why won't it stop?

Again he longs for feeling.

Again he longs for tears.

Again he wants to break that mask.

Why won't it stop?

Again he wants the bullet.

Again he cannot move.

Again he wants to cry out.

Why won't it stop?

It is like an endless loop.

Again and again it plays.

It is a scene he never wants to see again.

Why won't it stop?

Why won't that mask break?

Why can't he just cry?

Why can't he just end it all?

Why won't it stop?

A/N:

**To be continued…**


	4. Part 4

Machine

The writhing had stopped.

The moans had ceased.

He lies silently.

Is this the end?

He breathes in shallow gasps.

He shivers violently.

He does not move.

Is this the end?

The Doctor longs for noise.

Will he moan?  
Will he cry out?

Is this the end?

The Doctor wishes he would move.

Will he flinch?

Will he blink?

Is this the end?

The Doctor keeps vigil both day and night.

He only stops to eat and rest.

He would collapse if he did not.

Is this the end?

The Doctor is certain that this is the end.

Each breath could be his friend's last.

He hears a sudden, startled cry.

Had he been wrong about the end?

Those pale cheeks had suddenly flushed.

Those eyelids had flickered.

The fever had broken.

Was he going to survive?

A/N:

**To be continued…**


	5. Final

Machine

His eyes snapped open with a startled cry.

He blinked wearily at the dark room.

When had he gone to bed?

Where was he?

Why was he so cold?

And if cold, why was he sweating?

His head hurt terribly.

What had happened?

He remembered in an instant.

His brother, his Boswell, had fallen.

Why had it happened?

Did it even matter anymore?

He started when a hand touched his shoulder.

He whipped his head around.

He took in a shaky breath.

Could it be?

There sat his Boswell.

His eyes were filled with joy.

That joy wrapped in relief.

His friend was alive?

It had all been a dream.

A dream that had been created by fever.

He realized this now.

His Boswell was alive.

His mask suddenly shattered.

He lurched forward.

He wrapped his arms around him.

Then he began to cry.

A/N:

**I hope this was a good ending to my string of depression…**

**Constructive feedback please.**

**I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!**


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